


The Boy King

by mothermonsters



Category: True Blood
Genre: Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothermonsters/pseuds/mothermonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ancient nest with ancient secrets chooses a boy called Death to be their king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ashes and smoke swirled over the heads of the crowd and floated away into the twilight. It was beyond silent in the thick woods; not even the nocturnal animals dared speak their opinions. The enormous fire crackled and licked at the dead wood feeding it barely contained by a rudimentary circle of stones in various sizes. It was a ritual tested in truth by time and tradition; a pivotal scene of change and oddly human beliefs. 

The subject in question stood raised on a platform of bound tree trunks, his body bare save for thin trousers and a long midnight cloak lined with fur. His pale face was mostly concealed by a buck’s skull used as a mask, the antlers circling his head like a tall crown. Adorning the headpiece was bloodied fingerprints, winter blooms, and a loop of thorns. Some shaped glass dangled from the horns, tinkling lyrically with every movement the boy made. For now he was still, brandishing the black mark the priestess had drawn down the middle of his torso; it began at the center of the tattooed necklace and ended right above the navel. One long, strong line to indicate the pillar the boy was meant to represent to all of them, his people; their king. 

As young as their new ruler appeared, his advanced age radiated from him like a false heat. Everyone stared in awe; the breathtaking sight of a prophecy come home. Only, to one individual among the undead crowd it meant something much different. 

Through the eyes of the fledgling vampire, the ritual was something completely unheard of; like a secret he had stumbled upon unwittingly. He was one of them now, but Eric still felt like he shouldn't be here. He watched unblinkingly as the old priestess (old in appearance but still younger than the king) waved a stick of incense around the boy’s crowned head. These people worshipped smoke and fire it seemed, as well as the trees in which they made homes and hid themselves from the destruction of day. It wasn't difficult to deduce that these two elements, earth and fire, were hazardous to one another. Why would one praise fire if their livelihood was so dependent on wood and forest? As if to answer Eric’s silent question, the priestess took hold of Godric’s arm and stated, “there is water in you. An element that can tame the fires in our hearts.” Then she turned to face the unbreathing crowd below. “But our king also has a great deal of earth in him as well. Look at how grounded he is, how sturdy. When water matches with earth in one creature only promising things can happen.” This brought about a tittering of hopeful words and nods from the people. Then she continued, “We know that water promotes devotion, compassion, and mercy. While earth grants firmness, ambition, and consistency. Together we can expect them to manifest as a voracious heartlessness when it comes to the enthusiasm to destroy everything we all have within us.” The priestess threw herself to her knees in front of Godric, grasping at his hand as if she expected him to save her from falling. The boy behind the buck’s head still stood rooted to his spot like the tall trees around him.

Eric found himself wondering if this was an act on the part of his maker. He had only known Godric for a period of a few decades, but he knew that the boy was not power hungry. He was introverted and more than content to remain within his own thoughts. For as powerful as he was, Death had no outward interest in exerting that power on others. Most definitely not politically at least.

But now he stood on a pedestal, draped in fur and paint. He looked absolutely frightening with only his mouth showing, painted black like the markings on his abdomen. The dark priestess at his feet looked sapped of energy as she heaved and clawed at the trunks beneath her. Perhaps this was an act too. It was clear to Eric that she was a fanatic, as impressive a tool of persuasion she was. The people of this clan listened to her and seemed to agree with whatever she said. Upon the pair’s accidental arrival, they were taken to this woman immediately for inspection. Eric and Godric had only been passing through on their regular journey to wherever their food and fancies took them. Sensing other vampires nearby, Godric reluctantly decided to snoop even though it became apparent that he was the oldest creature in the area and that none of them would be able to do him any harm. 

Another thing Eric noticed of his maker was that he avoided other vampires at all costs. In their travels they had crossed paths with others like them, or rather, more like Eric. Being newly made and not shy, Eric had intended to satisfy his curiosities by approaching these strangers. On the one occasion that he actually succeeded, Godric found his progeny amongst a small nest of young vampires exchanging stories. A deadening silence enveloped them from the mere energy the ancient one produced when he had approached them. The others turned their faces away and slunk into themselves as though hoping they would be invisible. Eric only peered at his maker through innocent eyes, attempting to convince the beast with those sharp fangs and dirty mouth. In the end they had stayed close for a short time while Eric made the closest thing he had to friendship since his death, and Godric remained hidden yet watchful. 

On their last night in that area——- the last night Eric would ever try to convince Godric of keeping strange company—— the circle of young vampires accompanied by Eric had successfully hunted and fed. It was the first time Eric had ever eaten without his maker. Godric arrived afterwards either lured by the smell of blood or by the energy in the space that had quickly turned sexual after the meal. There was something arousing about hunting, and of course human blood. Without any hesitation, the vampires were naked beneath the night sky with hands and mouths roaming. It brought back memories to Eric of his sexual prowess as a human Viking, and the many women who opened their legs for him easily. That was still the case, as Eric was undoubtedly handsome and always horny when blood was involved. He had taken numerous human women when he drank from them, but this was his first involvement with any of his own kind. He knew already that his mastery of sex had increased exponentially since dying, and was no match for any human when he wasn’t careful; which he never was. But the female vampire who was already a near century older than him was in no way fearful of freeing his cock from its cloth prison and mounting him expertly. Somewhere to his side another pair was coupling but all Eric could focus on was the pleasurable movement of the female atop him, the way her breasts bounced, and the pressure of her thighs squeezing him. 

He was lost in his own pending release and incapable of noticing the approach of another individual until it was taken away from him. A hand from above roughly snatched the dark hair of the female in his lap and tossed her to the ground as easily as if she weighed nothing. She landed with a thud and a crack of bones breaking as Godric stepped in between her and Eric. His fangs were extended in the most menacing way, a growl ripping through his adorned chest. The female pitifully inched backwards, eyes still clouded with lust as the much older threat stepped closer. Then she tried a bold approach, inching her knees apart in invitation to the place between her legs. Without words the two vampires engaged, and Eric watched Godric drop to his knees and slink over the female like a large cat. He was still stiff as his maker pushed the female down on her back, moved his pants aside and entered her roughly. Something changed in her eyes when they met Godric’s but it was too late, the boy pushed in unnaturally hard, undoubtedly ruining her insides with every pump. The younger female screamed repeatedly and helplessly clawed at the body on top of her, digging bloody tracks into Godric’s skin that did not seem to phase him at all. Just as brutally, the boy bit down hard into his victim’s neck ceasing her screaming until all that came out was a gurgling noise. The female choked on her own blood while Godric finished meaninglessly and rose with a disgusted look on his face. When he walked away he looked piteously at his childe, who was still sitting in the grass with an erection. 

During the scene, the other vampires had fled leaving Eric with the mangled figure. She would eventually heal physically; the scars left to her would go unseen. Eric had not waited for her; for all he hoped her wounds were too extensive to heal before dawn, and she would waste away before Godric got it in his head to finish her himself. He retreated to the cave that was their temporary resting place and curled himself into a naked ball in the farthest corner. A stirring on the other side came to his attention, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Suddenly the boy was leaning over him, knees drawn up under his chin. He waited an agonizing moment before speaking in that strangely accented voice. “We will not have companions. I won’t allow it. There are no others like us, do not be mistaken, Eric.” They left the following night and never spoke of that incident again.

That had been several years ago, and Godric’s intolerance for only a handful of strangers had evolved into allowing himself to be the center of a whole clan’s attentions, not to mention the top of their hierarchy. It was a change that Eric did not understand.

The winds shifted rattling the dark leaves and the beads of Godric’s crown. The priestess raised her dark head and turned her eyes to the sky with wonder. She rose again and stepped away from Godric, her shoulders and head bowed before she addressed the sea of vampires in a booming voice. “The Gods smile upon our choice, and upon our king.” Now her words were met with a chorus of cheers and howls. The wind continued as Godric finally moved, stepping down from the tree platform with inhuman grace, and then suddenly the entire world was still. The cloak fanned out behind the boy as he moved into the crowd; the crowd of his people. They parted like waves for him and grew into animation. Now Godric could better see the faces that had previously been shadowed in smoke. There were undead of all kinds; men and women, even children. Three no more than ten human years peered through the gaps in bodies to gape at him, but when he turned his masked face towards them they immediately shied away. 

Coming to a place near the center of the assembly, the boy king halted and so did everything else. A profound energy surrounded the setting; Eric felt it in the pit of his eternally hollow stomach. Even he could not tear his eyes away from Godric’s cloaked form. In the next moment two significant things happened: Godric dropped his fangs with a snap that echoed, and everyone else dropped to their knees. Somewhere in the back of the crowd, Eric the Northman was bowing in the grass with his head tucked down. Until he heard the noise of rattling glass and felt the breeze of cloth on his face. His gaze traveled to meet the head of a crowned buck with gleaming fangs, and when Godric rested his hand on his shoulder Eric knew that he had become a prince once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Godric makes a deadly discovery and holds his first meeting as king.

It had not taken the ancient any time at all to believe that these people were strange.

Yet he had agreed to be their leader.

King of the Strange, how fitting a title.

It had been numerous years since Godric had interacted much with a group of his own kind; he had mostly avoided them as a rule after being banished from the society he had been reborn into.

What made these creatures so strange was a matter of opinion, of course. Everyone finds something or someone strange; that is the way of things.

Firstly, he had never seen a nest so large and so communal. There were vampires of all ages, biologically and post-quietus. Furthermore, they appeared to all get along, to be like-minded, and perhaps even friendly by vampire standards.

Although he was the oldest, Godric had no experience with being in command, no idea how to serve these people who seemed to exist so differently than what he was used to.

He had never stayed in one place for very long at all, and by the looks of this coven they had been here for years upon years. 

And why not? It was pleasantly isolated and quiet, shaded by tall trees and an impenetrable mist. It looked to be a place any creature bound in darkness would prefer.

In any case it would not matter how appealing the company or environment was, so long as Eric was comfortable here.

Having a progeny changed most everything in Godric’s existence; very much like having a child--- an overly tall Viking child.

After nearly four centuries together now, Godric did not see any decision as being solely his own; if Eric did not want to be here, then he would leave without another word.

The part of him that had grown very accustomed to being a maker wanted to remain in the forest for a different reason: his instruction of Eric was not yet to completion; he could feel it in his old bones. The Viking was born to royalty and then reborn into greatness; he would need to know everything and more.

The boy had gotten lucky; his childe was quick to learn and often willing to cooperate. His willingness to listen and let Godric guide him had turned into a strong admiration over the years, and now Godric had no doubt that Eric would follow him anywhere without question.

Sometimes however it seemed lost on Eric just how powerful his maker truly was. He had the privilege of walking in those ancient footsteps where no other had tread before; he saw the parts of Godric that no other man mortal or immortal had or ever would witness. Still, the boy had within him a power that he himself had crafted over the past 1300 years of torture and turmoil and survival.

Now that the pair had grown so comfortable with one another, there was little for Eric to be impressed by. Perhaps a secret, prideful part of Godric wanted his progeny to feel inspired once more.

As he looked down on him now, the golden hair framing a pale face filled with pale blue eyes, he felt that desire rise up in him once more. He wanted Eric to fear him, to love him, to protect him, to continue to follow him no matter what. These were wicked and selfish thoughts that Godric hoarded to himself and only brought out for observation in times of loneliness.

Everyone around the pair watched on carefully as if they were witnessing a child tame a fearsome beast. Godric placed one pale hand on the Viking’s shoulder in a gesture that was meant to look meaningful.

The energy surrounding them was palpable, crackling in the dark, damp air like lights of many colors. 

Maker and progeny exchanged looks and then Godric knew that they would be staying.

He withdrew his hand and turned back towards the dais from which he had just came. The priestess standing there regarded her new king with immediate respect; this woman was used to serving kings it seemed, but Godric could not believe that there was anything particularly special about him.

Who knew how long he would rein here or if he truly wanted to at all? This entire place could come crumbling into ruins beneath him but the boy would always leave unscathed; it seemed to be his best skill: to survive.

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The ceremony may have come to completion but the celebration did not stop there; the undead dispersed to bring forth their human sacrifices. This sparked an interest in Godric that went beyond bloodlust; this nest took prisoners and kept them here to feed on at leisure, not killing them immediately in the way their kind was so used to. At least, that way the way Godric was used to.

Three younger individuals, two women and one man, were brandished before the ancient draped in black velvet. The metallic stink of their fear filled his nostrils and clouded his mind. He felt his better judgement slipping from his grasp as the three quickened heartbeats thumped in his ears. 

There was something about fear that made the blood taste incredible, but not quite as delicious as pleasure. Although, the latter was harder to come by when it came to feeding from unsuspecting victims. 

The boy king’s eyes met the vampire’s who stood guard over the humans, gauging what it was exactly that he was expected to do next. 

“Choose, My Lord,” was what the other said.

Godric regarded the terrorized breathers standing in a forced row in front of him. He wondered if they knew each other, he wondered if they knew what he was, what was about to happen to them. These were things he never would have wondered about when he was still a savage alone and mute.

One woman whimpered audibly when the boy took a step forward; all three cowered. Even without fangs drawn he must have looked like the devil Himself: smeared with blood and ash, a buck’s skull fixed over his face, the strange markings on his pale, pale flesh. He wished he could see this sight for himself.

A hand reached out to grab at the plain brown hair of the whimpering woman. She screamed loudly when Godric’s hand slithered against her scalp. 

Not so gently he brought her to him; she stumbled and likely would have collapsed on the ground if he hadn’t had a grip on her. Salty tears made trails through the grime on her homely face but the king ignored them; they usually always cried when given the chance.

With a sharp noise like a branch snapping the elongated teeth appeared in the boy’s mouth. When he bit down into the flesh of the peasant woman’s neck she cried out in pain and horror; her fear filling his mouth hot and thick. He tore away from her after only one practiced mouthful and she fainted on the spot. 

The remaining victims huddled together but watched as Godric swallowed and appraised the unconscious woman at his feet. He shook his head sadly, and then eyed the next woman.

He bit into her neck next with little regard to the way she tried clawing at him to release her. She tasted less afraid than the last but still just as peculiar. No good.

Lastly he pounced on the single male with an eagerness that came from only allowing himself so much blood at a time; he wanted more.

The man was stronger than the women had been. He clasped onto Godric’s arm, digging with his blunt nails as the vampire bit down hard. His guttural yell made the boy smile against his warm flesh. The strong blood entered his mouth forcefully, like the body was offering it up easily. This time Godric allowed himself several gulps before pulling away.

He grinned a mouth covered in blood at the vampire guard who nodded respectfully. A choice had been made.

At some point the two discarded women were dragged away unceremoniously but Godric could only watch the plight of the man as he was brought up to the trunks where Godric had been made a king. 

The priestess took hold of him with a matronly smile on her face that did nothing to soothe the distress within the human. She removed a dagger from somewhere within the folds of her robes and held it up so it caught the moonlight. Each pair of night eyes watched suspended in time as the blade came down and sliced the man straight up the middle like a fish being gutted.

Warm blood and organs gushed and fell from the body like a river of gore. Even Godric felt alarmed by this brutal sacrifice.

He found Eric in the crowd and saw how his progeny looked on in awe, still overwhelmed by such acts of violence. Ever a Viking he was.

It was a wonder how trained these vampires seemed to be, how in control of their urges. None of them were as old and experienced as Godric, and even he felt the familiar tug of his base instincts at the sight and smell of so much fresh blood.

The man was dead and gone but the priestess knelt down in his remains and washed her hands up to the elbows with the blood as if sanitizing them.

The crowd seemed to thicken and push forward, leaving Godric alone with his amazement. 

The magic woman stepped down from the stage, hands held up to contain the blood dripping down in small rivers. 

One by one she approached each vampire in turn and pressed a single bloody dot to their pale foreheads. This sacrament was given out to each identically, even Eric who had to bend down considerably for the priestess to reach his face.

When she arrived at Godric she took both stained hands to the skull crown and lifted it from his face. His ashen hair was in the tangles it had held for many years, his stormy eyes staring into the woman’s without hesitation. 

Both hands she pressed against the sides of his face to make deep red handprints, then she retraced the dark line created down the center of his torso earlier. 

“From beginning to end,” she whispered to him.

Godric felt the warm wet line on his flesh embrace him as king.

In a tidy wave the crowd of pale creatures bent at their waists in his honor, bowing their heads so all that he could see was the tops of their scalps. 

The very air seemed to quiver as they righted themselves.

When the ancient looked again, the priestess was hanging the skull crown on a post above the dais so the hollow eyes would see all.

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They fed and laughed and coupled and howled and danced and fed some more beneath the moon that was so close to being full.

Godric was shown to the residence that would be his as their ruler.

It was not as modest as the erected shacks the citizens dwelled in; it was made of stone and had a thick reinforced door. Certainly the last permanent structure in this forest.

There was no personal evidence of the last man or woman who had reigned here, but the domicile was ready for its next inhabitant.

A grand bed large enough to fit three people the size of Godric dominated the far wall, its surface piled neatly with furs and feather pillows.

The long table in the front was meant for private meetings of his council, or so he was told. The chair at the head was bound in thick leather and studded with shiny steel.

There were books and scrolls that he was itching to open and examine, small weapons of pure interest, papers, ink, and a pile of gifts that had been made by his new people.

Godric fingered a tunic of soft fabric as a pair of fine leather boots caught his eye; he had never had proper shoes before.

The boy had never been materialistic, but these acts of graciousness left him with an unfamiliar feeling of gratitude.

He lowered himself onto the large chest placed at the foot of the bed. His skin felt fresh after the bath he had been granted.

The noises of celebration rang like hundreds of bells in the night as the vampires carried on; as they would for the remainder of the night, the priestess had said.

A rumble of feet outside brought Godric’s face to the door as Eric burst in trailed by four barely dressed women.

He approached his maker with such a devilish grin on his face that Godric had to wonder if it was his progeny who had become Death now.

“I’ve brought you my own gift, Sire. Four to be exact.”

And the undead women crowded him and pushed their king back onto the mattress.

They were giggling and working to remove his clothing but Godric could only stare at Eric, wanting a conversation with his childe.

He pushed himself up and put a hand between himself and the females. “Please, let me speak with my progeny, ladies.”

Reluctantly but obediently they filed out past Eric who had dropped his grin in favor of a look of bewilderment.

“I was told that they had unique abilities,” he protested as the door closed behind them.

Godric fixed his own look for Eric. “I am sure that they do, my child, but I need to talk with you.”

Eric lowered himself onto the bed beside his maker, his eyes fixed with utmost attention any creature could be capable of; Eric had found it a necessity to listen to Godric.

“I want to be sure that you like it here, that you want to stay.”  
“I already told you that those women have special skills, why would I leave?” He joked, but Godric only managed a small grin.

“Eric, this will be the first time we have ever lived among others of our kind, in a nest. It is not easy no matter if they have chosen me to be in charge.” 

The elder watched the look on his progeny’s handsome face, gauging his reactions.

“We are not social creatures like humans are. Yes, others of our kind prefer to nest but you know how territorial we are. A group of this size... It could turn bad for us.”

Eric considered this, his eyes turning towards the door as the noises of jubilation ensued. 

“I have always been a member of a clan, you know that. I think---- I think I want to try this; I think we need to try this. What could happen, they will forbid us from leaving? Together we are more powerful than all of them.” 

They could do that, or worse. Godric studied Eric for a moment longer before nodding his assent. “Then we will stay.”

The smile that his childe granted him now was so beautiful that Godric felt an instantaneous pull heavier than gravity.

His hand touched Eric’s cheek where the unaging skin still held some scruff from its living years; Eric had refused to shave just as he refused to cut his hair. Godric could not find a reason to mind it.

The hand brought the face closer to his until there was no more space in between. Their lips touched softly at first but it always grew hungry.

Godric did not want any number of women no matter how skilled they were when he had his warrior so close and smelling so good.

Eric’s body responded appropriately, rolling over to pin the smaller vampire to the bed. 

That impossibly golden hair fell into his eyes made of the purest bluest sea.  
“Shouldn’t a king be the one to conquer?”

Godric squirmed impatiently beneath his companion.  
“A king should have exactly what he desires.” And he kissed Eric again and again.

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The next night brought about a rainstorm that pounded the ground into a muddy soup. 

The water lashed against the stones in a hard splattering and hit the skin like tiny needles but the boy king stood in the endless shower and watched the blood and ash vanish from his flesh.

There was a bath offered to him, yes, a soak in a claw-footed tub that could have very easily accommodated someone three-times his own length.

Godric had refused only because he knew that this storm was coming; he had smelled its damp warning in the air.

He stood naked from the waist up with arms outstretched and head tipped back as the water dripped red and black from him.

His skin welcomed this saturation, this purity; when was the last time it had felt this clean?

Soaked strands of hair clung to his forehead as Godric laid eyes upon a churned up mound of mud several yards away.

It looked like a freshly dug grave, one that was poorly hidden amongst roots and wet leaves.

The boy king crouched down and sank his hands into the damp earth.

There was no caution in the way his hands dug and moved the rain-laden soil aside to uncover whatever was hidden beneath.

It was a rather shallow grave, although not really a grave at all; no corpse lay inside.

A sharp burning sensation grasped onto the king’s hands and he recoiled with a hiss of fangs.

Angry red puncture marks dotted his palms in an evenly spaced pattern.

Godric glared at the offending dirt, the silver laid like an animal trap.

There installed beneath the earth were sharp rows of silver spikes unlike anything the ancient had seen. He had only unearth the tips, and saw that those few exposed were now wearing his blood like capped mountains.

The wounds on his hands hurt but they would heal in time; now anyone who saw them would know that something had happened.

The boy king got to thinking that perhaps this trap was not meant to be discovered; why else would it be buried like this?

But its near vicinity to the village also made him think that it was one of its inhabitants who had planted the lethal spikes.

Curious as he was to discover the perimeters of this pit, Godric thought better of exploring further on his own. 

It would become the inaugural topic for his first council meeting.

The boy retreated back to his home in the dewey aftermath of the rainstorm.

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By the next night those red dots imprinted on his otherwise flawless skin had begun their process of fading. Godric had taken care to wrap his hands if only to conceal the problem.

The council that he was meant to lead, and that was meant to council him, was seated around the antiquated table with eyes fixed obediently on him.

The boy stood at the head, his hands resting on the wooden surface in front of them. Eric was seated to his right as second-in-command, the priestess next to Eric, and next to her was a male that Godric had not seen until now.

His hair was dark as pitch and cropped close to his skull accentuating the sharpness of his face. His eyes were even blacker than his hair as they simply refused to look any place that wasn’t their leader. Although he was quite a long ways from his origin, he was undoubtedly of Asian descent. 

Godric had momentarily forgotten about the issue of the silvered pit when he tried to place the strange vampire.

“You are---?” His expression begged.

The well-built man rose and Godric saw the dagger at his waist. There was no use for vampires to find solace in human weapons, but having an interest in them himself Godric saw it as merely an accessory.

“Isamaru, My Lord.”  
“Isamaru is an extremely skilled marksman, My Lord,” the priestess also rose. “We have found that he also has very useful knowledge of other nests, other kings and queens, and politics.”

In other words, this Isamaru fellow was meant to be an important asset for Godric as ruler.

The boy nodded and then took his seat, which prompted all else to do so.

“Last night I made a discovery,” Godric began with a clench of his fist, crumpling the wrapping which has gone unnoticed until now.

He felt Eric’s unease beside him, but the other two vampire only looked at him.

“I seem to have uncovered a pit of sorts. It was full of spikes, long and sharp and crafted of silver. I was unable to determine the breadth of this trap but it is not far from here.”

He allowed that opening statement to settle to the bottom of the table’s collective mind, but none spoke.

“Can I assume that none present knew about this?”

The priestess opened her mouth with Isamaru’s sharp eyes on her.

“My Lord, this pit in question... it has been there for quite some time. That is to say, yes, we have all known about its existence.”

She looked ashamed as she hung her head.

“You knew about this?” He tried to keep the anger from his voice, the betrayal, but it snuck in between the spaces. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”

Now the priestess nodded her head violently. “Yes, yes of course! I-- we will not keep any secrets from you, Lord Godric.” She was backtracking.

Those eyes made from rain narrowed at the female, but Godric accepted this apology nonetheless; it was better to forgive and always remember.

“Then tell me about it now.”

Isamaru snuck a small glance at the woman who held her mouth in a grim line; she dare not disobey.

“The pit of silver-- we have no name for it-- was created by our last ruler over five-hundred centuries ago. Long before we knew about your existence, My Lord.” Her dark eyes seemed to look at the trap through the walls around them.

“He wanted both protection for us all and... himself, his rule. He condemned many to the pit, too many. It became less of a barrier between us and the outside world as it did a torture device.

He was mad; he sent dozens of his own people, the people he swore to protect to the silver spikes to meet their end. It was a most painful way to die; burning and screaming and bleeding out until there was no more.”

The priestess looked disgusted as she thought upon these terrifying memories, and Isamaru bowed his head in mourning.

“What happened to the late king?” Although Godric believed he knew just as well.

“We killed him,” the female answered bluntly, unapologetically. “He was lost to us, he cared more for destroying his own kind than leading us. We could no longer trust him. My Lord, he would send you to the pit just for looking at him unfavorably!”

Godric nodded. “You do not have to explain that to me. You did the right thing.”

A weight was visibly lifted from the woman’s shoulders.

“But I must ask,” the boy king frowned. “Why is the pit still there?”

Now Isamaru answered, “because none have wished to take the task of removing it. You know how lethal it is, not to mention that many here have lost makers, progenies, and lovers to the spikes.”

His pale hand uncurled from the wrinkled bandage wrapped around it. “I want it gone. All of it.”

A stirring of nervous energy swept the table.

“If none are willing to do it, then I will do it myself.”

“My Lord, I would not advise that. It’s dangerous.” Isamaru had a polite forcefulness to him.

Now the ancient boy moved aside the cloth from his palm and brandished the pattern of pink marks. “I already know this.”

The priestess gasped, and Eric finally spoke: “I will do it, _fader_. I will remove each and every one of those damned spikes with my bare hands if I have to.”

His eyes glared at the other two vampires present. “It was a barbaric thing to do to leave them there in the first place; even I know that.”

The councilors looked ashamed again.

“No, Eric. I can not allow that. Either everyone will or no one but I will. That is my decree. Please spread the word.”

And the priestess and the warrior could do nothing but nod obediently and rise from the table to carry out their first task.

When maker and progeny were left alone, Eric spat, “I cannot believe that they would even allow you to consider removing that pit yourself. I don’t trust them.”

_Already, my childe? You are so terribly stubborn._

“If I were you I would just keep the thing, let it be a reminder to those who would allow harm to come your way.”

But Godric shook his head. “No. If I were going to torture someone, anyone, I would do it with my own two hands.” And the king looked at the leather whip hanging like artwork from the far wall.

♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛♛

_Please understand that we meant no offense to you, Your Grace._

_Please know that we trust your judgement completely._

Godric watched from his window the vampires who had been chosen for the first shift.

No, they had not volunteered as their leader had suspected they would not; Isamaru had been correct in his account of everyone’s disdain for the pit of spikes, as if their touching it would put the blood of those gone on their hands too.

To remedy the lack of voluntary action, the Japanese vampire had established random shifts of work until the entire pit was dismantled and melted down.

Godric still planned to do his part in ridding his kingdom of the foul trap.

Now he turned back to the large bed where Eric reclined against the dark scrollwork, the sheet draped just so over his torso.

There was a darkness in his childe’s eyes that had not dissipated since the council meeting earlier, nor would he stop fretting over Godric’s hands.

“Stop brooding, Eric.” The elder went to sit on the edge of the bed.

“It shouldn’t be this difficult to get what you want as ruler,” he protested.

“Perhaps I do not know any better because this is my first time acting as ruler.” And Eric had past experience with this sort of thing; he could be better suited for this job than Godric.

The Viking turned away to pout at the wall.

What could the boy king do? He knew in the pit of his eternally empty stomach that the pit had to disappear, but should he be less merciful towards the fear of his people?

If what the priestess had shared was to be believed as truth then their trepidation was warranted.

Perhaps they were less uneasy about the pit then they were about their lord discovering it prematurely.

Perhaps they expected punishment from him if that was what they were so used to.

_Please forgive us all, Godric._

And he was at the most merciful point in his existence; it had taken him over 1,000 years to reach this point.

“It is okay to be scared,” he mused.

Eric turned to face him again. “What could you possibly fear?”

“Everyone fears something, Eric.”

Loss, the future, the dark, abandonment, even death. There was something to fear in every corner of this earth.

Godric had seen fear portrayed on so many different faces that he knew it as well as he’d know any mother, any father.

Fear was his closest friend, the singular thing he could count on.

Perhaps what the boy feared most was the lack of fear... Bravery, is that what he could call it? 

This boy, this immortal soul, what he feared most was his own courage.


End file.
